


The Kissing Dance

by read_write_thrive



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Aziraphale/Crowley First Kiss (Good Omens), Christmas Fluff, Drinking, First Kiss, Gavotte, Other, non-binary characters, secret santa gift, they/them pronouns
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-26 22:06:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21961729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/read_write_thrive/pseuds/read_write_thrive
Summary: In a small cottage in South Downs, a semi-retired angel and a semi-retired demon celebrate the Christmas season by getting drunk, dancing like idiots, and taking their relationship another step forward.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 93





	The Kissing Dance

**Author's Note:**

> This work is dedicated to @ LiviMarie5 over on Twitter for the Good Omens Secret Santa for 2019! I know you wanted a physical gift, and I swear one will get there eventually, but finals/family stuff got in the way so I can’t start it for a few days yet. I hope you enjoy this one shot anyway, and hopefully I’ll get my act together for the proper gift! Happy Holidays!
> 
> In other news, this is technically my first AO3 fic but I have been writing over on Wattpad under the same username for years now in case you want to read more! I don’t have anything Good Omens up over there (yet) but there’s quite a bit of Harry Potter content if that tickles your fancy. That being said, I apologise for any errors from lack of beta/lack of ao3 experience and I hope everyone reading has fantastic holidays (no matter what time of year you read this).

Christmas, generally, is a time of year for celebration, remembrance, and loved ones. And for the tipsy angel and demon in their new cottage in South Downs, well, let’s just say they are always up for festive traditions.

“D’ya remember the Winter Solstice festivities those Romans used to do? Good old Cult of Sol.” Crowley slurred over whatever brandy they had bought for the season. Nothing as fancy as some of their ages-old wines, but still good enough for Aziraphale’s refined palate.

Aziraphale, who wasn’t as far along as their demonic partner, grimaced slightly, “Unsightly celebrations, those Romans. Too much wild dancing when drunk.”

“Aw c’mon, the dancing was one’f the best parts!” Crowley protested, throwing their arms up in the Roman fashion, despite the rhythm of the current Mozart piece being entirely wrong for it. Aziraphale couldn’t contain their giggle, causing Crowley’s smile to grow even further.

“Though angels never did like dancing much. ‘Y’s that?” Crowley took another drink, stretching out on their sofa while Aziraphale watched from their chair.

The angel shrugged slightly, nursing their own glass, “Two left feet. And that earlier dancing was downright sinful.”

“Wot, like grinding is it? is all too sophisticated now?” Crowley, thankfully, did not attempt to demonstrate this style of dancing.

Aziraphale scoffed, “No, nota’tall. There were a few good styles over the years, though.”

Crowley sat back with raised eyebrows, “Oh really? My angel has a favorite dance?” 

Aziraphale grew warmer, though they weren’t sure if it was because of the pet name or the alcohol, “Just one in the 18th century that I ever actually learned, though there were a few ballroom dances in the regency era I thought were delightful to watch.”

“You learned a dance? You can’t just say that and not demonstrate! What dance’s it?” Crowley leaned forward toward Aziraphale in full anticipation.

The angel felt themselves grow warmer, though this time more from embarrassment, “No, you’ll call me silly or ridiculous. I’ll leave the dancing to you, m’dear.” They took another drink to hide their face.

“No, nope, not an option. Ya gotta tell me now,” Crowley pushed, the drink flushing their features slightly.

Aziraphale tried to put off answering by keeping their attention elsewhere, but eventually the wide yellow eyes got to them, “Oh alright. It’s the gavotte, if you simply must know.”

Crowley’s look of shock was not unlike what they wore on that wall of Eden all those millennia ago, “You learned the French kissing dance?”

Aziraphale grew flustered again, “It wasn’t like that! The gentlemen at the club—“

“Wait gentlemen? You learnt the kissing dance at a gentlemen’s club? Why, you absolute flirt.” Crowley couldn’t help but tease. Partially because of the whole demon thing, but they also loved how flustered Aziraphale could get.

“It’s part of the tradition, and all perfectly chaste.” Aziraphale insisted, refilling their glass as their hesitation had left them dry.

“Oh, I thought you’d say you did the flower thingy, you actually kissed! I’m sure upstairs was thrilled.” 

Aziraphale’s face turned even more sour at the mention of upstairs. Their semi-retirement has gone into effect some time ago, but their relationship with the other angels was definitely strained. Luckily, not even the mention could ruin the conversation.

“I’m sure not. Didn’t include it in the memos, of course. Wouldn’t want Sandalphon to start that awful salt pillar business.” 

Crowley’s teasing mood faltered as Aziraphale’s bitter side showed through. They shifted back on the sofa, patting the seat beside them to coax Aziraphale into their new favorite thing, drunk cuddling (Not that either of them would call it that). The angel was two steps ahead and settled into the old leather sofa easily, their serpent draping themselves across their lap.

“‘M sorry. Just can’t imagine you dancing, much less the gavotte.”

Aziraphale smiled down at Crowley, “I’ll have you know I got to be rather good at it too. Pity it went out of fashion.” They took a deeper drink to accent their point.

“Can’t day I ever learned it properly. Just skipped around until we got to the kissing portion so I could tempt whoever I was supposed to.” Crowley was in no position to take another drink, due to being laid out sideways, but they didn’t let that stop them from reaching out and attempting to take another sip. The majority of said sip splattered the floor between Aziraphale’s slippers, but oh well.

“Do be careful, dear.” Aziraphale warmed as they miracled away the drink. A frivolous snap, yes, but they were in no mood to care.

An idea had formed in Crowley’s mind and they pounced upon it the second it formed. Lurching forward faster then their body liked, they pushed up their festive sweater’s sleeves (which they only wore because Aziraphale insisted, of course) and swayed on their feet above the sofa. Aziraphale watched on in tipsy ambivalence.

“D’you still remember the steps? Let’s have a dance, angel!” Crowley pulled the angel to their feet, Aziraphale protesting weakly, “None of that, we’ve got all the time in the world, why not have a little fun?”

“We’ve no room, nor the right amount of people...” but the angel was beginning to smile their wide, intoxicating smile, and Crowley knew they’d done it.

“Ah bugger the people.” Crowley dismissed as they snapped their fingers and the furniture moved perfectly out of the way, the music changing to a tune more appropriate for the occasion.

“I don’t believe it works as a couple dance, my dear.” Aziraphale again protested, though their feet were already tapping to the beat.

“There’s no French court to correct us, and no flirty human gentlemen for you to dance with, so bugger it all.” Crowley dismissed again, their smile matching their partner’s as they grabbed their hands and pulled them close, “But you’ll have to show me the steps.”

Breathing, while never a necessity for the ethereal beings, was something Aziraphale found themselves doing if nothing else but to try and calm their skyrocketing heart rate. They and Crowley had been getting more comfortable with affection ever since the apocalypse-that-didn’t, but this was something completely new. Feeling their warm breath contrasting against their cool hands, Aziraphale felt themselves practically melt from the attention. Thankfully, the drink was enough to keep the principality from actually disincorporating.

On the opposite side, Crowley was urging their courage to keep up. The alcohol had gotten them this far, and damn it all if they were about to back out of the game now. If you would call this a game— Crowley was too nervous to call it anything else.

“Of course, dear.” Aziraphale said softly, adjusting them accordingly and waiting for the the right moment within the song to begin. Thankfully, a few hundred years was nothing in the grand scheme of things, and the steps came easily to the angel, who led by example and occasionally called out instructions to their serpentine follower.

The music/dance wasn’t particularly romantic. It was called the kissing dance, yes, but it was more of a folk dance. Lots of high steps, skipping around and turning the multiple partners that’re supposed to be part of the routine. However, with just the two beings in the room, it became less of a group display and more of a mess of fumbling steps and drunken laughter. At one point, whenever traditionally one would be doing a partner chain but instead they just began to spin each other around, Crowley tripped and nearly fell face first if not for Aziraphale’s catching of their lower back.

“Alright, Crowley?” The angel asked as the demon caught their breath from the adrenaline.

“Fine. Though I wasn’t aware the gavotte included such deep dips.” Crowley teased once again, as the position was rather incriminating. Aziraphale’s blush was Rockwellian at this point, though their grin barely faltered at the jest.

“Traditionally it doesn’t,” Aziraphale’s free hand acted of its own accord and reached out to trace the cheekbones of their partner, “You always’re so beautiful, my dear.”

Crowley blushed at the praise, the affectionate touch completely overriding the fact that this dipped position wasn’t exactly comfortable. However, their corporation stumbled slightly from under them, and the attention was cut short.

“Oh, my apologies,” Aziraphale grew flustered again, pulling the ginger demon to their feet, “Got carried away.”

But Aziraphale’s hands now rested with the right on Crowley’s lower back and the left on the back of their neck, supporting properly out of the dip but also bringing them much closer than the gavotte ever did. Their breathing seemed to match one another, the warm air heating one another’s faces. Golden eyes met Aziraphale’s clear blue irises, and time stopped (at least metaphorically, though they were much too preoccupied to know for sure). The angel’s gaze flickered away only to settle on the gaped lips of the demon in their arms.

“I could get used to you getting carried away,” Crowley said again in jest, though it was much softer and more heartfelt than that. It was a joke only if the angel decreed it so— A shrodinger’s style flirt, something Crowley and Aziraphale had been sprinkling throughout their conversations since the beginning of eternity.

But before the apocalypse-that-didn’t, there was always a disappointing refusal. A “fraternising”; a “you go too fast for me”; an opening of the box to find a cat that had moved on to the next world. Crowley laid the comment out in the cottage air, anticipating the rejection but letting themselves be filled with the hope once again. The hope that carried them through the millennia of chasing after a bookish angel who was always too good for them. 

And yet, now was different. Now they shared this cottage, cuddled whenever it got to be too much, accepted that they were on their own side. And now that hope had more room to fill Crowley’s heart than ever, no matter what their doubts would try to tear down.

Aziraphale’s feelings, as always, were the counterpart of Crowley’s. They knew that upstairs and downstairs would disapprove, that this could be dangerous for everyone, and yet they looked at the gorgeous being in their arms and couldn’t believe it. They couldn’t believe that they had made it here, in their own cottage, dancing to centuries old music and sipping from festive drinks, enjoying each other’s company without any arrangement nonsense. They felt free.

Their left hand left the back of the demon’s neck and returned to the side of the face that stared down at them so passionately neither of them thought it possible.

“My love, may I kiss you?” Aziraphale’s words were technically from their lips, but it felt like instinct rather than formulated syllables, like something innate pushed them towards one another even while the world felt otherwise. 

Crowley visibly gulped, their voice cracking and breathless as they responded, “Please.”

Their eyes fluttered closed, both filled without enough passion to outlast suns but enough fear to crumble comets. The mid tempo music became the background track to a million fireworks going off all at once as two halves met in perfect unison. 

The kiss started perfectly chaste, but it felt too good to be true and both sought to make it count, just in case it never happened again. Aziraphale’s hands cupped the sharp angles of their demon’s face, fingertips nestled perfectly against the cool yet flushed skin. 

Crowley’s hands flew to Aziraphale’s waist, if nothing else but to steady the angel who swayed into the serpent in their excitement. And yet, even once the angel was settled on their feet, Crowley’s hands remained wrapped around the supple waist, feeling more sinful at the touch than they every had in all their years as a demon. This ultimately holy, precious being was enthralled in them enough to allow Crowley to stand this close, rest their hands just there, and kiss more passionately than anyone ever had before. Neither of them ever wanted the moment to end.

And so the story of a Christmas dance leading to a legendary, blissful first kiss between an angel and a demon who were built for one another in every way draws to a close. I hope you enjoyed, and may whatever holidays you celebrate be as joyful as these two lovable idiots drunkenly dancing around their cottage to a centuries-old tune.


End file.
